Promise
by Lady Eglantine
Summary: "All she could focus on was his trembling, a tremble that had nothing to do with being sick, one she was all too familiar with." Shepard takes care of a sick Garrus. Post ME3.


A/N: Just a little ball of fluffy angst with my Shepard and Garrus I've had sitting in my folder (as with much of my writing the past year) that I finally found the inspiration and time to touch up.

* * *

"No."

"Just for a few minutes?"

"No."

A slight pause. "…A minute?"

Shepard crossed her arms, staring down her mate. "You are not moving an inch off that bed until that fever goes down. Don't make me tie you to the bed, Vakarian."

Garrus slunk back into the pillow with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. I'll just lay here and die of boredom while you go and have fun outside."

His quip did not lessen the serious look on her face (as it normally would have), not when she picked up on the dullness of Garrus's sub-vocals, clearly sounding just as unwell as he looked. "I'm just going out to do some planting, big guy. It's not like I'm doing target practice. Besides, you won't have to worry about dying of boredom when you're fast asleep."

Shepard went over to the en-suite bathroom to retrieve the medicine the doctor in the nearby village had prescribed for Garrus. Two doses a day of some vile looking off-color pinkish liquid. She grabbed the vial, taking it over to the tray she had used to bring his meal, a slice of dextro bread and a turian soup concoction that was a cross of human minestrone and chicken noodle soup which, according to the extranet, was popular among turians when under the weather.

She placed the tray on his lap, grabbed the measuring spoon for her to dish out the medicine in for when he was finished eating. The doctor also advised her it was best to take it with a full stomach. As full as can be when forcing yourself to eat when you're sick.

"I hope this tastes okay. First time making it."

Garrus reached for the soup spoon, stirring the soup around. "Even if it doesn't, I won't be able to taste it."

He scooped up a spoonful, but kept it hovering over the bowl with a slight shake of his hand.

She noticed the hesitation. "You need to eat, Garrus. Just a little bit. You can't take the medicine on an empty stomach or you'll toss it back up."

He sighed tiredly. "I know. It's just difficult when my brain is very resistant to the idea."

He was finally able to force himself to eat all the bread and half the soup, but was unable to go beyond that. He looked on the verge of issuing an apology, but she stopped him, content with him having finished half.

"Now the fun part." She doled out one of two tablespoons of medicine, holding it out to his lips for him to take. The turian version of a grimace crossed his face, but he dutifully opened his mouth. He gave a discontented rumble as he swallowed it.

"Still tastes like ryncol past its prime," he said during his respite between tablespoons.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know what that tastes like."

Despite having clearly not dispelled the taste from his mouth, he quickly took the second one before he had time to think about it and spit it out.

"How long before I have to take that again?"

"Don't worry. You won't need another dose til tonight," she assured as she took the spoon away and back on the tray.

"Doesn't make me feel any better."

"You're kinda hoping for the opposite, remember? Not that I mind playing nursemaid. Makes up for all the times..." Shepard paused, not wanting to remember, those early days when she finally awoke in the hospital in London, the intense physical and emotional struggle for weeks, months, after.

She felt his hand curl around her free wrist. "You know I didn't mind either, Jane."

"I know." She laid her other hand over his, wanting to leave the subject where it was, not probe any deeper. He didn't need to be trying to comfort her when he was ill.

Shepard moved the tray to a small table in the corner of the bedroom, then resumed her vigil at the chair by his side, wanting to make sure he fell asleep as he had the night before after he took the medicine.

She waited until Garrus's eyes stayed closed for a couple of minutes and his breathing evened out, content that he was out for the count for a couple of hours, continuing to catch up on sleep he was sorely needing.

She made to get up off the chair, but her right leg had other ideas, forced her to stop partway. She had felt the weakness in her leg building as the morning progressed, but had (perhaps foolishly) hoped it wouldn't get any worse, that her braces would be enough. But she refused to let that get in the way of her plans outside.

She reluctantly grabbed the cane she had propped by the side wall and made her way out the bedroom and through the house in slow steps. She hated relying on the thing at all, but she found it necessary on the days when braces didn't even seem to help. Even with how far she had come, she still wasn't back to the same place she had been and she had been slowly coming to terms with the fact she may never fully recover. That her military career, as she had known it, was likely over. It had been a hard pill to swallow, it still was, but she was determined to make the best of this situation. She hadn't survived the war just to sacrifice the life given back to her.

She stepped out onto the front porch, the sunlight seeping into her pale skin, the warmth spreading throughout her body. She made her way over to the flowerbed she had created and the pots filled with flowers she still had to plant, easing herself down onto the ground.

Coming out here to the English countryside she had discovered a liking for gardening. When she had done it on Mindoir, she had thought of it as nothing more than yet another chore. Her mother had taken to it, not only seeing the flowers as an opportunity to liven up their yard, but a way to express her creativity. Now that they were out here, Shepard could understand what her mother saw in the activity. There was a relaxing quality to it she hadn't appreciated before.

Not that she had any reason to be stressed (present situation with Garrus aside). She had been enjoying her time here, in their quiet little retreat. It wasn't their house on the beach, but the rolling hills reminded her of Mindoir and they were near a lake that they could catch a view of from their yard.

She wasn't planning to be outside long. Just to finish up putting in the last batch while she had the opportunity of uninterrupted sunshine, an interlude from the non-stop rain they had and would be having again. Likely her legs would protest after awhile and she did not want to leave Garrus alone for too long without checking on him. Even if he was still sleeping, she wanted to be sure.

The warm sun continued beating down on Shepard as she worked, sun that had been pleasant now on the verge of baking her. She could have gone to grab water (which she really should have brought out to begin with), but she was in a semi-comfortable working position she didn't want to break out of. It was hard to find one anymore.

Reaching for the closest two pots filled with geraniums, she found herself humming a classical music piece her father had been fond of, not knowing where it was coming from, but choosing to continue humming away.

The tune died on her lips a few minutes later when she spotted a figure out of the corner of her eye.

Shepard set the flowerpot she had been holding down on the ground more forcefully than she had intended, irateness growing at seeing a certain turian that was supposed to be bedridden and resting actually heading out into the yard and towards her.

She didn't get the chance to attempt to get up or issue her vow to follow through on her threat of tying him to the bed. Not when he practically catapulted himself down beside her, wrapping his arms around her in a vice and buying his face into her hair.

She was too stunned to move or register the growing discomfort at propping herself on her knees. All she could focus on was his trembling, a tremble that had nothing to do with being sick, one she was all too familiar with.

She guided his head away from her hair so she could look at him properly, at the frenzied light in his eyes, as if he wasn't sure she was there.

"Garrus?" she asked gently, fingers already moving into their familiar position on his neck hide.

He didn't reply right away, her words seemingly not registering. Then mandibles tightening, he ground out, "I...I thought you were gone."

Any frustration left in her melted away at his words, uttered in a flang that nearly broke her heart to hear, especially coming from him. Because she suspected he wasn't just thinking she had left their home. It was a wound cut deeper than that.

"I'm here." She pressed herself into him, molding her body into his and wrapping her arms around his neck in a firm hug. "I'm here, my love."

His shoulders shook even more at the endearment, one typically used at the most tender of moments, the most serious of situations.

"Come on. Let's get back inside."

As Shepard found, that was easier said than done. Lifting herself up could be a difficult task just by itself. But Garrus seemed unable to get up himself, too dazed and disoriented to let go of her, too focused on her still being there. It took the aid of her cane with a dose of gentle coaxing and murmurings to him on her part, but then they were finally up and moving, heading back into the house.

She wondered what he had been dreaming about as she carefully made her way to the bedroom using her cane on one side and helping Garrus on the other. Was it during the run to the beam? A likely moment. Was it when she faced the Leviathan, that Reaper on foot on Rannoch, almost falling off the edge of the Normandy along with her clone? Or was the first time she died, when the SR-1 was obliterated and she went down with the ship?

The bed sheets were in an unceremonious pile in the middle of the bed from his seeming panic to race out of bed and find her. She coaxed him back down on the bed while she untangled the sheets, laid them snuggly across his body. She then made to resume her seat by his bedside, but one glance into his eyes had her ditching that plan and going with closer contact. Once she was settled on top of the bed, she leaned her head against his, her hand subconsciously drifting over to his mandible.

Shepard didn't say a word, not wanting to press him until or if he was ready to say anything. It was hard enough getting him to have a serious talk about how he was truly feeling when he wasn't acting like this.

After what seemed like longer than a few minutes, his breathing slowed to its normal pace and the tenseness of his body began to abate. "I'm sorry. For that."

"Don't be. It's ok." How could it not be after all the times he had helped get her through one of her own all too frequent nightmares?

With her head against his, she felt the slight shake in disagreement. "No. It isn't. It's not fair of me to be putting that on you."

She reached down to squeeze his hand, lifting it up to kiss the tips of his talons, hoping it was as comforting a gesture as when he did it to her fingers. "Just because you think I have it worse doesn't mean you can't talk to me. Or have bad nightmares too. We're in this together, remember?"

He didn't respond right away, seemingly not placated. When he did, his voice sounded as jagged as when outside. "I almost lost you."

Hearing such despondency for a second time from him, her eyes began slightly burning in the telltale sign of tears welling up. But she would fight them. He didn't need her tears now. She needed to be the strong one this time. "I came back."

He pressed his feverishly warm face against her cheek. "You didn't. I dreamt that Harbinger...I watched as he... and I couldn't get to you...all I could think was I abandoned you, to face that alone..."

Another old wound. One that had seemed all too real when he had almost put her name up on the Memorial Wall. One she suspected he still carried with him.

She nuzzled the side of her head against his. "Garrus..."

"Then I woke up and you weren't there and I thought..." His voice cracked even more. "I thought it was real. And I...I couldn't handle it. The thought of going on without you."

She wanted to reassure him, tell him that she knew he would have. He would have carried on, as he always did. Bruised, maybe even broken, but he would have picked himself up and kept going. But she found herself unable to speak, the words lodged in her throat. Unable to do anything more than wrap her free arm around his torso in a tight hug.

"Then I heard you, outside." Shepard was never more thankful she had left the window open. "I had to make sure it was real, that you were here."

She planted what she hoped was a soothing kiss on his plated cheek, in case he needed another physical reminder she was there.

"It's...it's ok, big guy," she said, voice faltering along the way. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever. And I'm so sorry I put you through that."

"You did what you had to," he murmured against her skin, unable to mask how drained he sounded, the sickness still raging within him.

Not breaking the contact, she lowered them both down onto the bed, settling herself against him. "Try to go back to sleep." But she wouldn't go outside again. Her planting could wait. "I promise I'll be right here when you wake up."

She felt his arms come around her, both settling around her waist while sliding his unscarred mandible against her cheek, the unspoken "I love you" expressed through this single act, just like in every other touch and stroke and kiss they shared. But then he said it aloud too, for good measure, those three words murmured as he settled into the crook of her neck. Shepard whispered it back, in between comforting kisses on his crest.

Garrus quickly fell asleep, leaving her awake to mindlessly trail her fingers delicately over his fringe. That must have had a soothing effect on her as the next thing she knew she had fallen asleep as well, awaking to a skyline of pink and purple hues out their window. She gently rotated her stiff neck and carefully stretched out her legs, sore from their earlier exertion. All the while, Garrus was still fast asleep, his hot breath tickling her neck, still holding onto her and showing no sign of letting go.

She thought about getting up to prepare some dinner, but then she glanced down at his sleeping form again and decided to stay put for a little while longer.

After all, she had promised she'd be there when he woke up.

She was going to keep that promise.


End file.
